"Sherlock, how are you feeling?" was Mycroft's poor way of breaking the tense silence. Sherlock frowned, rather unamused by his awkward way of introduction. Well of course Sherlock was feeling miserable, due entirely to Mycroft's little tip to their Father about Sherlock's brand new sexual preferences.
"I'm feeling alright." Sherlock said a bit forcefully. Well of course it wasn't too much of a lie, for his body hurt yet his soul was just glowing! All in all the feelings canceled each other out, and alright was just the word to describe it. Mycroft nodded, getting to his feet and shutting the trap door as quietly as he could. It still made quite a loud bang, yet it was the thought that counted in the end. Now Mycroft took to adapting himself to the awkward silence, standing with his umbrella at his feet and still managing to look like the guilty one. Sherlock wondered what Mycroft couldn't get out of his head, for surely there were details of that night that he couldn't easily forget. How could he look at his younger brother and not get that vivid, startlingly familiar picture of being so desperate on Victor's behalf? How could he not recognize Sherlock's hunger as his own, and mourn for the fact that in the end it would be Sherlock that won Victor's heart? Well of course the reason Mycroft was unworthy was due entirely to the fact that he was much too alive, it never would've worked out between them. That and he would never have found it within himself to do what was necessary. He never would be capable of murder.
"I suppose I owe you some sort of..."
"You don't." Sherlock interrupted abruptly, for in all honesty even he understood that such harsh actions were necessary. They even worked, for a little while that is. For a couple of days Sherlock was willing to avoid the morgue, to avoid all attempts at escaping this horrible prison. Mostly because he was too afraid for Victor's safety. While that man may act like an immortal God, he certainly wasn't. And should Mr. Holmes or even Mycroft discover that Sherlock had broken out and run to him again, well they'd have the police involved...or maybe something worse. They could imprison Victor for all sorts of things, really just pool all the crimes in a hat and pick one, and he's probably guilty of it. Yet the worst case scenario was Mr. Holmes, that holy man, and his shotgun. He would not hesitate to turn the barrel towards either one of them, his disgrace of a son or the immoral mortician. There were so many worse case scenarios, and all of them of course ended with permanent separation. All of them ended with Victor going to a place where Sherlock couldn't follow.
"I feel as though I acted harshly. And maybe it was justified, yet I still feel...well I feel guilty I suppose. Guilty, as if I had been the one hitting you." Mycroft admitted with a great sigh.
"I was crazy that night, Mycroft. Perhaps you were too. I was running on so much adrenaline, and obsession, and madness. I was angry at John, I was lost in my feelings for Victor I was...I was just let off my leash I suppose. But I'm done; I don't want anything to do with Victor Trevor ever again. I've had time to think it over, and I realized in my seclusion that he wasn't any good for me. He was a bad influence, in all sorts of ways, and he even put that horrible charm on me, just as he had with you." Sherlock admitted with a great sigh. Oh it almost hurt, saying such bad things about Victor. Sherlock felt his heart lurch in protest as his lips delivered such untruthful words, yet he could do nothing but play the part Mycroft would want him to play. That big brother of his, well he would want to know for sure that Sherlock wasn't going to run off and do exactly what he wasn't supposed to be doing.
"It relieves me to hear that." Mycroft admitted finally. "Yet Sherlock, I must admit that I'm still worried about you. I feel as though you've fallen in love without your own consent."
"That's why I need John, Mycroft. I need to see him as soon as possible; you need to let me go to him. My heart still pulls in the wrong direction; I need to set it straight. I need to make this right." Sherlock insisted breathlessly. Mycroft heaved a great sigh, yet in all honesty there was no way he was going to try to counter such a tempting offer. People chose what they want to hear, whether that be the truth or not, whether it even be sensible or not. Mycroft wanted to believe that the scene from the other night had completely erased itself. He wanted to believe that he had done no permanent damage to his younger brother by introducing him to Victor, and he wanted to think that Sherlock and John were soulmates all along. Oh what ridiculous fantasies, yet all the same the man seemed convinced of himself. He looked excited, as if he was thrilled that his brother's love life was shaping into the thing he wanted it to be.
"Alright then, John Watson. That can be arranged." Mycroft agreed rather stiffly, as if he was trying to hide his enthusiasm behind a mask of hesitance. He never liked Sherlock thinking he agreed with him, yet it was no mystery that this was exactly what he wanted to hear.
"How soon?" Sherlock asked in something of a whine. Mycroft thought for a moment, obviously making very quick calculations in his head. Then again, if he was as eager as Sherlock expected him to be, it would be a time that suited both of their ambitions.
"Well tonight is possible, I assume. If Mr. Watson is not doing anything important..."
"This is more important. Tell him that. Guarantee him that. Tell him that I'm sorry, and that I truly miss him. I want to start over. Tell him that...that I messed up." Sherlock muttered, trying to put as much regret into his voice as he could possibly manage. It was rather humiliating, having to talk this way about his past self. As if he was guilty of so many crimes, when in fact he would do everything again if he could. Well in fact, he was going to do everything again, this time at a much greater scale! This time lives would be lost and lovers would finally be connected, reunited so to speak, into their final and permanent places. Beyond this there was nothing, and apart from this, there was grief.
"Yes alright. I'm sure he'll appreciate that. I do think, honestly, that he loves you very much." Mycroft decided a bit obviously, as if he was just realizing this now.
"Yes, it's curious, isn't it? He didn't even know me before last month, and now that football star is in love with me. What a moron, really." Sherlock admitted with something of a guilty chuckle.
"Oh indeed, he really is foolish. Yet all the same, it's not a bad match." Mycroft decided with a little shrug.
"No, in fact I think it's quite a wonderful pairing." Sherlock admitted with a little grin, to which Mycroft nodded his head in agreement.
"The best pairing in all the world." Mycroft agreed, tapping his umbrella excitedly on the ground and staring at his little brother proudly. Surely he never thought he'd see the day that his younger brother found his soulmate (well, in this case he never really did, or rather he never approved of the real soulmate). As soon as Sherlock was born Mycroft was probably preparing himself for the end, preparing for that struggling little baby to just give up. All of these milestones in Sherlock's life, as insignificant as it had been thus far, were probably all little surprises for the man. Surely he expected to know his younger brother for a couple of weeks before he was an only child once more.
"So go call him! What are you doing staring at me for?" Sherlock insisted, jumping up and down with honest impatience and trying to ease his brother out of the room. Well of course there wasn't a phone in here, the parents would never let him get in touch with the outside world. And so Mycroft had to hustle downstairs, and quickly, if he wanted to give John time to cancel whatever plans he might have had. 

It wasn't long before Mycroft returned, and this time he came in something of a hurry. Sherlock watched as he ascended, sitting on the bed already dressed and ready to go. If all went well tonight, this was the last time he would see this attic, perhaps this was even the last time he'll see his brother. No, they would see each other again for sure. Mycroft would be the first one to notice Sherlock's absence, and the first one to realize where he would have gone. And so Sherlock revised his prediction, this is the last time he'll see his brother in good spirits. Their next encounter would most likely be a violent one.
"He'll be here in ten minutes! He dropped everything, just as you predicted." Mycroft said with a proud little smile, as if he though John's dedication was just so admirable.
"What an obedient boy." Sherlock said with a sigh. What a stupid boy was more like it. What a desperate boy. He's probably been waiting for that exact summoning as soon as he left Sherlock on the road, perhaps because he was expecting some sort of apology. No, he would not get an apology tonight. He would get something much harsher, something much more appropriate.
"So let's get you downstairs, but quietly. The parents...well they shouldn't know you've left." Mycroft advised apprehensively.
"Father is in his office, I assume?" Sherlock presumed.
"Yes, it's sermon time." Mycroft agreed, checking his watch to see that it was already eight o'clock. The moon was shining ominously in the sky, without a cloud to interfere with the portent scene. It was the perfect backdrop for the perfect murder, light enough to see the life fade away, yet dark enough to not have any witnesses.
"Perfect, and mother?" Sherlock wondered.
"In her room, sewing." Mycroft said. "Don't worry, I checked twice."
"Think you'll get beat too, if they find me?" Sherlock asked with a little chuckle, descending the ladder carelessly. He really didn't mind if he was confronted with his parents now, there was violence in his soul and a murder waiting to happen. If he that one intended body turned instead into three, well that was just another side effect of being trapped in an attic for his entire life. And maybe their lives would come later, when Victor decided that there needed to be more sacrifices so as to ensure their future together. Maybe Victor would encourage Sherlock to return to his childhood home and make everyone pay for the abuse had suffered for so long. The two brothers crept along through the hallways, keeping their steps quiet and their shadows concealed. The lamps that hung along the wall illuminated their path to the staircase, and very quietly they slipped into the church unnoticed by either of their oblivious parents, both hard to work at their tasks. When Sherlock started through the backdoor he found that John's stupid car was already idling in the parking lot, the engine still running as if he had just pulled in now.
"So much for ten minutes." Mycroft commented, yet in an appreciative way, as if he was ever so glad that John would be in such a hurry for Sherlock's behalf. That man was only as perceptive as he allowed himself to be, and so he really didn't realize what was happening, or rather what was about to happen. He wasn't able to observe that Sherlock didn't look the least bit excited; he couldn't tell that his brother was radiating the joy he had expected from him. Instead Sherlock stood serene in the parking lot, anxious only for the opportunity to prove himself strong and worthy in the face of John Watson. John's last mistake would be doubting Sherlock's abilities, and overestimating his dedication in this relationship. Just as soon as the engine cut out John jumped out of his car, running up to Sherlock with some urgency and throwing his arms around his neck in a great yet surprisingly motherly hug. Sherlock hadn't expected that, although he did remember that the last time they saw each other, John was sure that Sherlock would freeze to death on the side of the road. Maybe this was his first solid confirmation that Sherlock really had survived. Sherlock didn't want to hug him back, partially because he still felt some underlying anger for the situation in which they had last parted, and secondly because he didn't want to get too attached. He understood now that John housed legitimate feelings for him, and to offer those feelings in return might get Sherlock too emotional for the task at hand. All the same, he had an audience, and in Mycroft's eyes Sherlock basically had to return the affection. It would be what his brother was expecting, and as of now he couldn't take any chances to mess this up. And so, with some hesitance, Sherlock looped his arms around John as well.
"You're...you're okay." John muttered to himself, as if he was just spouting the obvious to remind himself of the fact.
"Yes, I'm quite alright." Sherlock agreed quietly, holding John closer and reminding himself not to appreciate the warmth, or the safety. That was the one thing John had over Victor- actual human emotions. If Victor ever did find it within himself to love Sherlock, well Sherlock would never be positive if there were actual feelings there, or mere selfish agendas. Sherlock never knew if this entire affair was him just getting played, to help Victor with something that he wasn't realizing. Then again, he really couldn't complain. He just wanted to be with Victor, regardless of the other man's intentions. Sherlock would sleep in the morgue if it simply meant seeing that man every day for the rest of his life. His idea was to run to Victor's open arms, and what they did after they reunited was entirely up to Victor, for Sherlock would not complain.
"Well then, Sherlock, in the most loving way possible..." John sighed heavily, pulling away for a moment yet keeping his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, as if trying to keep him from running away once more, "I am going to politely call you a moron." This actually made Sherlock chuckle, just an escaped little laugh from the back of his throat that manifested itself at the most awkward time. It was rather annoying that John had waited until just now to be charming, almost as if he knew he had to flirt for his life. Then again, every time Sherlock felt something close to affection or John, he had to remind himself again that Victor was waiting for him. Somewhere in that morgue, Victor was ready and prepared.
"Well that's not very nice of you..." Sherlock sighed in defeat. "But you're not wrong."
"Now come on Sherlock, you should know that by now." John said with a little laugh, turning on his heel and starting towards the car. "I'm never wrong."
"Oh, the irony that you're wrong right now." Sherlock said with a great sigh, looking back at Mycroft in some appreciation as a farewell. He tried to cherish this moment, or at least remember the look on his brother's face before it turned infinitely sour. Mycroft looked peaceful; in fact his black eyes were shining with something that might have actually been pride. He was leaning forward on his umbrella, smiling at his brother with some encouragement, looking so overwhelmingly supportive. Oh it almost hurt to leave without final words; it almost felt inappropriate to go off without saying goodbye. And so Sherlock shook his head in annoyance, ashamed of his own humanity, and changed his course entirely. Instead of following John any farther, Sherlock raced back to his brother and gave him a very quick yet meaningful hug. Mycroft almost yelled, for he certainly wasn't expecting a hug, nor was he used to any sort of appreciation from his brother. In fact he was so startled he didn't have time to return the hug before Sherlock pulled away, and for a split second both of them shared a very awkward silence.
"Thanks Mycroft, for everything. I wouldn't be here without you." Sherlock said very quickly. This of course was the case for both of Sherlock's ongoing relationships, for if his brother had not been daring enough to let him escape that first time, none of this would ever be happening. Sherlock would bit sitting up in the attic, unaware of Victor, and with John unaware of him. It would be just as it always had been, disappointing, meaningless...wasted.
"Don't act like this is a goodbye." Mycroft scolded. "You'll be back in a couple of hours."
"I know." Sherlock said hesitantly (for if he was indeed in back in a couple of hours, then his entire life would have been wasted effort). "But I wanted to say it anyway. Goodbye Mycroft."
"Be good, Sherlock. Enjoy yourself." Mycroft insisted, poking Sherlock's feet with his umbrella so as to move him along. Obviously Mycroft didn't like anything that seemed to be bordering on family affection, and he was about ready to end this heartfelt scene just as soon as it had begun. And so for once Sherlock obeyed his brother, and he turned from Mycroft and walked swiftly back to the car. John was already waiting with the engine running, sitting with his varsity jacket pulled impressively over his shoulders, his arms draped across the wheel as if he was trying to pose for some greaser calendar. Sherlock climbed into the car and looked across to his companion, who looked as if that who scene had actually been amusing. Yet John obviously decided to leave it go, for he looked over at Sherlock with that familiar gleam in his eye, the one he wore when he knew exactly what was coming next. Or at least, he thought he knew. Little did he know that there was something much different in store, something a lot more dire.
"Well then, where do you want to go?" John wondered casually.
"I think we'd best be suited where we left off." Sherlock decided, trying to mirror that eager, seductive look. John smiled, for obviously that was exactly the answer he had been hoping for.
"Where we left off it is." He said with a grin, and with that pulled the car out of the lot and started the familiar pathway to the park once more. Sherlock was quiet, his mouth was closed yet his entire body was humming with anticipation. He hadn't brought a weapon, for that was this was all about, wasn't it? he wasn't going to rely on a knife, or a gun, to do what he knew he was capable of. It had to be his own hands, his own strength, pitted against John Watson's doubt and hesitations. Sherlock was strong when he needed to be, and he knew he had it in him to end John Watson's life on his own terms, and by his own hands. This is what it was going to have to come down to, he was so familiar with death these days that it was only appropriate he become death for a little while. He chooses who lives and who dies...he chooses who is desecrated and preserved. John, in this case, earned a little bit of both. He was to be preserved in his beautiful, youthful self. He would go into the ground a muscular, attractive boy. Sherlock was doing him a favor by allowing him to stay young forever, to never have to wither away to nothing, to never lose his muscles, his looks, or his hair. Then again, this murder was not purely with the intention of doing John a favor. Sherlock was also aiming at dishonoring him, killing him in a way that would make him regret his doubts, and make him rethink just how desirable he really was. John deserved death, if he was so hateful against those who were boarding on the edge of demise then he ought to just join their other half, and see just how alienating death could be. He deserved to feel scared, for once in his life. He deserved to feel humble, completely at the mercy of someone else and their intentions. Sherlock would be that person, to bring John down from his high horse and all the way into the ground.